08-07-2016, 12:32 AM
For a moment they are little more than statues, monuments to the grief that turns their dark faces to stone and sorrow. She is glad he is still, glad because at this distance she cannot feel the warmth that radiates from the furnace of his body, cannot smell the sweetness of winter and sweat against the black of his gleaming hide. She knows these things would break her, these things that were no longer hers to love- though she would forever. So she is glad that he is still, glad that she cannot reach him. But then he does stir into motion, muscle and sinew rippling beneath the scars and old wounds, and her eyes flash wild with betrayal when they fall against his face. Don’t. She thinks, she wills him away, if only because she is weak, if only because she loves the pain that knifes through her with every step that carries him closer, closer.
He stops when he is mere inches away, close enough to taste the scent of his skin on her tongue and feel the warmth of his body embrace her as it had a hundred times before. He is close, but she cannot reach him unless she takes that last step- and she won’t. She cannot. Standing this close it is easy to see the push of his ribs against his sides with every ragged breath he takes, easy to see the sweat that dampens his shoulders and the way his eyes burn like living coals. She almost misses it in her grief, almost misses the agony in his face and the way his body strains for the same closeness that she cannot stop wanting. But this does not make sense. It is easy to believe that he had stopped loving her, easy to believe that at some point she had stopped being enough. But the truth she thinks she finds sinking in the bottoms of eyes as red as trapped fire is so much harder to swallow. It feels like looking into a reflection, like seeing the truths of her own heart etched carefully into the shadow of his face.
I am so sorry, Isle," he says, "it was a moment of weakness - I,. He pauses and he is breathless, but before he has a chance to continue she is shrugging away from this unbearable closeness and shaking her head. “No,” she tells him quietly, closing her eyes to keep him out, closing her eyes as though the image of him isn’t forever burned into the core of her memory, “you don’t have to be sorry, you don’t owe me anything.” She speaks and she wonders if she sounds as hollow as she feels, but she cannot hear herself over the roar of the blood in her veins. There had been no promise of monogamy, no vow of anything more than loving one another. But then he continues and her eyes flash open to touch every angle of a face that seems to crumble even now as she looks on wordless. There are tears that gather and fall from broken eyes, tears that leave trails of moisture as they follow gravity through the angles of his dark face. It is too much for her, too much to watch him hurt like this and even though she doesn’t understand what he means, why he thinks she would ever leave him, she closes the distance between them.
She does not tuck herself beneath the curve of his neck because she still doesn’t understand, because she doesn’t think that place belongs to her anymore. But she touches her nose to his and steels herself against the way her heart explodes in her heaving chest. Her lips are more hesitant than they have been, more unsure, but she traces the paths of a dozen tears until all she can taste on her tongue is salt and sorrow. Her nose lifts to his forehead to push his forelock aside as she had a thousand different times, and her eyes close because this motion is as familiar as blinking, as easy as breathing. When she pulls back - though not away this time because she is weak, too weak – she hopes that his sorrow has been eased, that no new tears will stain his face. “I don’t know how to leave you,” she says quietly, still confused because she cannot remember the days she had slipped out the gate to stand and watch dawn paint the ice wall red, “you are my heart.”
It is like a dam in his heart breaks because the words that come pouring out are nearly enough to drown her. She gasps and it is a ragged sound, and she stills again only when his lips find the curve of her jaw and follow a path they’ve traced a thousand times before. “You haven’t lost me, you’ll never lose me.” She says once she can remember how to speak again, and her voice is nearly a whisper, a ragged, breathless sound that makes her flinch to hear. “I don’t understand, Offspring,” she says next, and her furrowed brow disappears beneath a tangle of dark forelock, “you want me to stay?” Her heart heaves and thrums and beats wild patterns against her trembling chest. She can feel that wild desperation returning again. “Please,” she says and she finds that she is begging again, “don’t ask me to share you with someone else, it’ll kill me Offspring.”
But I’d do it for you. She doesn’t say, because even just thinking about it makes her heart erode away in her chest.
She closes her eyes and drifts closer again, made more selfish, more greedy by the confession of love on his lips. But this time she slips closer than before, close enough to press the dark of her nose to his chest to feel the way it raced beneath her touch. “I love you, Offspring,” she says, she breathes, “if you ever doubt anything, never doubt that.” And then she pauses, quiet, remembering words she had forgotten when they disappeared beneath the others, swept away by the tides of emotion struggling between them. “What else?” She asks, and there is a little steel to the soft of her voice, a little wariness to know more than this. “What else don’t I know?” But even though her words are brittle and her voice is edged, she doesn’t pull away from the feverish warmth of his body or the pounding of a heart she knew so well. A whisper then, barely loud enough for him to hear, a truth that burns in her mouth, "I will always, always need you."
i am well aware of the shadows in my heart
He stops when he is mere inches away, close enough to taste the scent of his skin on her tongue and feel the warmth of his body embrace her as it had a hundred times before. He is close, but she cannot reach him unless she takes that last step- and she won’t. She cannot. Standing this close it is easy to see the push of his ribs against his sides with every ragged breath he takes, easy to see the sweat that dampens his shoulders and the way his eyes burn like living coals. She almost misses it in her grief, almost misses the agony in his face and the way his body strains for the same closeness that she cannot stop wanting. But this does not make sense. It is easy to believe that he had stopped loving her, easy to believe that at some point she had stopped being enough. But the truth she thinks she finds sinking in the bottoms of eyes as red as trapped fire is so much harder to swallow. It feels like looking into a reflection, like seeing the truths of her own heart etched carefully into the shadow of his face.
I am so sorry, Isle," he says, "it was a moment of weakness - I,. He pauses and he is breathless, but before he has a chance to continue she is shrugging away from this unbearable closeness and shaking her head. “No,” she tells him quietly, closing her eyes to keep him out, closing her eyes as though the image of him isn’t forever burned into the core of her memory, “you don’t have to be sorry, you don’t owe me anything.” She speaks and she wonders if she sounds as hollow as she feels, but she cannot hear herself over the roar of the blood in her veins. There had been no promise of monogamy, no vow of anything more than loving one another. But then he continues and her eyes flash open to touch every angle of a face that seems to crumble even now as she looks on wordless. There are tears that gather and fall from broken eyes, tears that leave trails of moisture as they follow gravity through the angles of his dark face. It is too much for her, too much to watch him hurt like this and even though she doesn’t understand what he means, why he thinks she would ever leave him, she closes the distance between them.
She does not tuck herself beneath the curve of his neck because she still doesn’t understand, because she doesn’t think that place belongs to her anymore. But she touches her nose to his and steels herself against the way her heart explodes in her heaving chest. Her lips are more hesitant than they have been, more unsure, but she traces the paths of a dozen tears until all she can taste on her tongue is salt and sorrow. Her nose lifts to his forehead to push his forelock aside as she had a thousand different times, and her eyes close because this motion is as familiar as blinking, as easy as breathing. When she pulls back - though not away this time because she is weak, too weak – she hopes that his sorrow has been eased, that no new tears will stain his face. “I don’t know how to leave you,” she says quietly, still confused because she cannot remember the days she had slipped out the gate to stand and watch dawn paint the ice wall red, “you are my heart.”
It is like a dam in his heart breaks because the words that come pouring out are nearly enough to drown her. She gasps and it is a ragged sound, and she stills again only when his lips find the curve of her jaw and follow a path they’ve traced a thousand times before. “You haven’t lost me, you’ll never lose me.” She says once she can remember how to speak again, and her voice is nearly a whisper, a ragged, breathless sound that makes her flinch to hear. “I don’t understand, Offspring,” she says next, and her furrowed brow disappears beneath a tangle of dark forelock, “you want me to stay?” Her heart heaves and thrums and beats wild patterns against her trembling chest. She can feel that wild desperation returning again. “Please,” she says and she finds that she is begging again, “don’t ask me to share you with someone else, it’ll kill me Offspring.”
But I’d do it for you. She doesn’t say, because even just thinking about it makes her heart erode away in her chest.
She closes her eyes and drifts closer again, made more selfish, more greedy by the confession of love on his lips. But this time she slips closer than before, close enough to press the dark of her nose to his chest to feel the way it raced beneath her touch. “I love you, Offspring,” she says, she breathes, “if you ever doubt anything, never doubt that.” And then she pauses, quiet, remembering words she had forgotten when they disappeared beneath the others, swept away by the tides of emotion struggling between them. “What else?” She asks, and there is a little steel to the soft of her voice, a little wariness to know more than this. “What else don’t I know?” But even though her words are brittle and her voice is edged, she doesn’t pull away from the feverish warmth of his body or the pounding of a heart she knew so well. A whisper then, barely loud enough for him to hear, a truth that burns in her mouth, "I will always, always need you."